Just Another Day at the Office
by stagepageandscreen
Summary: Just a snapshot of a normal day in the life of the Winchesters. The wolf came again, this time its attack catching Dean slightly off guard, its claws raking across his chest, slashing through his jacket, button-down, and t-shirt to cut into the flesh beneath. "Damn it," he roared, catching the beast a sharp cut across the face. "This was a new jacket!"


**A/N Just a little drabble I wrote in Creative Writing class today. First SPN fanfic so be gentle!**

**Not sure when this is set – anytime really – but I hope you enjoy!**

**SPAS or Libz**

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><p><strong>Another Day at the Office<strong>

For Dean Winchester it was just another average day at the office.

The pit was dark and musty, the only light provided by his flashlight that had somehow fallen with him and, even more miraculously, landed upright and in one piece, the beam cutting a yellow swath through the gloom.

Dean could smell the creature he was hunting, all damp fur and old blood, could hear its shuffling gait as it prowled around the outskirts of his senses. Pulling the long bladed knife – silver of course – from its sheath by his hip, braced himself for the fight that he knew was coming. Sam was somewhere out in the woods; they had separated in true Scooby-doo style and he had pulled the short straw in this case.

One last breath to feed his muscles and then he leapt for the torch, knowing that light would be his only advantage in this fight, hearing the werewolf swipe at his feet as he moved. Snatching up the flashlight he turned the beam full on the creature as it lurched towards him, illuminating the crazed eyes, vicious teeth, and hooked claws of the monster. It growled low in its throat, then attempted to rush him, its supernatural speed and strength slowed slightly by the silver bullet Dean had fired into its leg a moment before the ground had given out beneath them both and pitched them down into the old bear pit.

With a snarl of his own he stabbed his knife forwards, aiming for the heart – a killing blow – but the werewolf spun away, leaving the blade to gouge a bloody line across its shoulders.

Dean felt no remorse at the animal howl of pain it let out; this particular wolf had been using it's human form to pick up hitchhikers, mostly young and female, then knocking them out and stealing them away to feast on after dark. He and Sam had stumbled upon the bodies earlier in the evening, the grisly discovery as well as the fresh tracks prompting them to split up in the first place.

As a third generation of its kind, this werewolf was able to change at will, lunar cycle be damned, and so it had taken the brothers longer than normal to spot the pattern and take up the case.

The wolf came again, this time its attack catching Dean slightly off guard, its claws raking across his chest, slashing through his jacket, button-down, and t-shirt to cut into the flesh beneath.

"Damn it," he roared, catching the beast a sharp cut across the face. "This was a new jacket!"

The wolf only snarled and drooled, its flesh hissing from the contact with silver.

"Enough games, mutt," he growled, shining the flashlight directly into its eyes, giving himself a moment, half a heartbeat, to charge forwards and jam the blade hilt-deep in the creature's chest. Dean stood over the transforming corpse for a moment, panting as the pain in his chest hit him, watching as the hideous beast faded into a non-descript looking man with dark curly hair and messy sideburns.

If only the monsters they hunted all actually looked like monsters, he mused. Their job would be a damn sight easier for it.

"Dean?" His brother's voice came from the top of the pit, pulling Dean from his deep philosophical moment.

"About time, Sammy," Dean groused, pulling the blade free and wiping the gore off on the t-shirt of the dead – now human – being at his feet. "So much for having my back, bro."

"Yeah well, I stepped into some trouble. Concealed foot noose kind of trouble. Still, cutting myself loose was easy enough and the rope's come in handy."

Dean heard a dull thump by the edge of the pit, directly beneath the beam of light from his brother's torch. His own beam illuminated a thin but strong nylon rope similar to the kind they carried in the trunk of his beloved Impala, just in case. You never knew when you might need to climb out of bear pit or tie up a mutated force of darkness and evil.

With a surety that spoke of many years spent working together he threw his torch upwards for Sam to catch. His brother caught it one handed, tossing it aside to take Dean's weight as he scrambled up out of the pit with the aid of the rope.

Once again at normal ground level, Dean dusted himself off, wincing as he prodded at the slashed section of his chest. Sam meanwhile coiled the rope up, holding his flashlight between his cheek and his shoulder.

"You turn up late to the party you better have brought Starbucks." Dean found his torch and picked it up, twirling it expertly in midair.

"You hate Starbucks," Sam reminded him. "Look, we can get something when we're back on the road."

"So let's torch Wolfman and blow this joint," Dean suggested, searching out his bottle of lighter fluid from one of his many concealed pockets.

Dousing the body with the contents of both of their bottles, Sam then lit a book of matches – one of a handful he had picked up from the last dive bar Dean had dragged them to – and threw it down into the pit.

When the body was burning nicely, the leaves around the corpse also catching fire and aiding the destruction of evidence, Dean held his hands out and casually warmed them over the blaze. Sam couldn't help but smile; only people like them would find such a thing normal.

Once Sam was happy that the fire was unlikely to flare out of control the two of them backtracked to the car, leaving another monster to burn behind them.

The Impala was the only car in the parking area for the woodland trail which, considering it was nearly two in the morning according to Sam's watch, was not at all surprising. They unloaded their excess weapons into the trunk and got into the car, the familiar groan of the door hinges and the worn comfort of the leather seats soothing both brothers.

Dean fired up the engine and flicked on the radio, allowing the car to idle for a moment. "I heard there's a vamp nest in Texas that needs clearing out?" He flicked his brother a questioning look.

Sam shrugged, arranging his long legs with practiced ease into the cramped foot well. "We got nothing else planned."

"Awesome." The older Winchester threw the car into gear. "But first…pie."

"And coffee," Sam added, stifling a yawn.

"And coffee," Dean replied, turning up 'Highway to Hell' with a grin.

The purr of the Impala's engine rose in pitch as the sleek black beauty pulled away, its arrival at this future destination heralding the arrival of a monster's worst nightmare.


End file.
